Not William, Spike
by Monsieur Prongs
Summary: Not William, Spike. Before Buffy and Sunnydale. Before the Boxer Rebellion. William needs a change. He has bad dreams, Angelus stole his girl. He needs a drink. He needs a new name. Not William, Spike.
1. Not William, Spike

William's piercing blue eyes shot open as the dream took a turn he was unwilling to watch. For the past several nights he had, had the same recurring dream, the night he had staked his mother. He had thought that the remorse fled days ago, but apparently his mind was still uncomfortable with it. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers. He sat up in the dank cave, brushing dirt from his red-brown hair. Angelus and Dru had thrown him out yesterday, off to fend for himself.

"Bloody git! Stole my girl, leaves me to die. One day that ponce is going to get what he deserves." he muttered to himself as he walked out the of the cave. He sniffed the air. The smell of rain close at hand lingered in the heavy air. Dark clouds ruled the skies. The silence enveloped everything. A shrill train whistle suddenly broke through the grey morning.

William smiled slyly as the train thundered by. As soon as it had passed he jumped down into the tracks. Kneeling down, he ran his hands over the cold steel. He reached his hands down and tugged on a railway spike. It took several minutes of tugging, but eventually the spike came out, leaving a hole. He tested the end of the spike, cutting his thumb on it. This would fetch a fair price. He smiled wickedly, blue eyes flashing. He hid the spike in his coat and strode into town, thankful for the cover of the clouds.

Rain began to pour.

The town was quiet and peaceful. The morning had just begun, only a few people were to be found moving about the streets. The bums were out on their corners, waiting for the bustle to begin so they could eat. A drunkard already wobbled toward the bar to get his morning drink. William Pratt walked briskly toward the bar as well. He sat down on a stool in front of the bartender, "Something strong. I just want to forget." He called, dejected. He pulled out a little work book, and began to write. The man set a glass in front of him, and in one gulp, William downed the glass and set it back with the tinkle of glass against wood. He continued writing.

Brushing his hand against his nose, he looked up at the bartender, "Another glass," he ordered, and the bartender obliged, setting another glass of the sparkling liquid in front of him. William mumbled something under his breath, then set the book on the bar. He looked up at the bartender, "Be honest," he drained the glass, then continued, "How does this sound?" He cleared his throat then began reading,

"_What a wonderful time we had, oh me and my mum,_

_the days we spent laughing_

_singing together_

_Oh what songs you sung to me_

_You loved me, you did, but then_

_I changed, and you changed and we all changed_

_I could do nothing_

_Now it keeps me up at night, _

_The thought of what I did to you, _

_it makes me sick to think about it, why?_

_Why did I do that?_

_What a wanton woman you were, _

_Oh my mum._

_My mum_

_My mum_

_My mum."_

He trailed off and looked at the bartender, "That one is called The Wanton Folly of Me Mum. Now be honest. How was it?" The bartender looked at him, studying the man that had drunk two mugs of the strongest drink in his bar, the man who should be lying dead now because that stuff kills, and he thought,

"Now honest you say?" he asked, just to be sure. William nodded, and rubbed his eyes with two fingers. The bartender took a breath, "Well sir, to be perfectly honest," he paused again, "I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than to hear that awful stuff." William was shocked, he looked up at the man who had just insulted him in the worst way,

"Oh really?" he asked in a dangerous tone. The bartender stepped back a pace, he held up his hands,

"I meant no offense sir!" William stood up so quickly he knocked his stool over,

"Sadly, my good man, you caused great offense." He pulled out the railway spike, and leaped over the bar, cornering the man in his own bar. "Now sir, this will be the last thing you ever see." His face changed and he lunged forward, jamming the spike in the bartender's head, sending blood spewing across William's face and the wall behind him. He pulled the spike out of the bartender's head and he crumpled to the floor. William wiped his hands on his white shirt, staining it red. William licked his lips, relishing the taste of blood on his tongue. He looked at the blood on the wall behind where the man's head used to be, and then down at the body again, staring at the whole and the bits of bone that surrounded the wound.

He knelt down and turned the bartender over, examining him, debating whether or not he was going to eat him. He shook his head, the rush of killing someone with a railway spike was much more entertaining then just biting them and draining them dry. He leaped over the bar again, leaving the man dead on the floor, seeping blood all over the corner. William cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. The drunkard from outside walked in, the door creaking as he pushed it open, while he was leaning heavily on one side. He looked at William, surveying his appearance, his flyaway hair and his blood stained face and hands, and his shirt, that was once white and was now covered in red blood.

"Hey mate, you got any money?" the man slurred at William, holding his hands out for spare change. William shook his head and shoved past the drunkard, flinging the doors open. Looking out toward the street that was just moments ago empty, but was now bustling, his gaze shifted between every person that now walked down the streets of the little town. The drunk man came up behind William, "Hey mate, what's your name?" he asked, his breath stunk like a gutter,

"William." he replied, with out even thinking about it.

"Hey, hey William? What do you wanna do today?" The unshaven man asked louder, he clutched William's shoulder. The touch brought William out of his deep thoughts. He turned so fast that he knocked the man's hand off his shoulder, and made him stumble backward. William poised the spike above the man's heart,

"Not William, Spike." he viciously, before he plunged the spike into the mans, heart.

Warm blood flowed out of the wound and the man was stunned, screaming he fell to the floor, as his life force bled out of the gaping wound. He lay writhing on the floor, like a fish out of water. Spike put a leg on either side of the man and stabbed him again, more blood, more pain. He pulled the spike out and left the man, dying on the floor. Blood was splattered on his jacket and white shirt. He stepped outside, looking at the people passing and the spike he held in his hand, "Not William, not ever ever again, Spike." he told himself.


	2. The Massacre

Spike stepped out of the bar and into the street, looking for his next victim. A tall red haired lady passed by him, in blue swishing skirts and a large hat with feathers, her was skin pale and her features were comely. He grabbed her arm as she passed, she turned, startled,

"Yes, can I help you sir?" she asked him quietly. He just smiled maliciously and led her down into a dark alley. Pushing her against a wall he held her wrists against the cool bricks and kissed her on the lips. The girl yanked her hands out of his grip and smacked him on the face, cutting his lip. She tried to push her way past him, out to the bustling streets.

Spike threw his head back and laughed, he pushed her back to the wall. Pinning her with one hand he poised the spike above her, a smile on his face. She shrieked, one long pure high note, unbroken. Spike ran the sharp end down her cheek, slicing into the soft skin, leaving a trail of blood. In one motion he drove the spike into the skin on her sides, feeling her blood seep onto his hands and down her dress. He licked his bloodied digits and then pulled the spike out, a little bit at a time, twisting it as it came out. With each inch, the girl sunk further and further toward the ground, screaming as she slid. Spike pulled her up to eye level,

"You are no fun my dear." he whispered in her ear, he brought the spike up to her throat, and pressed the end slightly down on her skin, drawing blood. Her green eyes widened with fear, and her throat caught making it unable for her to protest. Spike chuckled and slit her throat, then he stepped back and watched her slip to the floor.

"For such a pretty lady, you would expect her so slide gracefully, not crumple in a heap." he mused to himself, speaking aloud. He cocked his head sideways, listening to the slight echo of his words. He looked down at the only spot of bright color in the whole grey alleyway, here in the middle of the alley was a splash of blue paint on a black canvas. He squatted down and grabbed the ladies face in his hands, turning her head this way and that. He positioned her body so that she was sitting against the wall, and opened her dead eyes. He opened her mouth, making her the picture of a horrified victim. He wiped the rest of her blood on her satin dress.

"That," he said to the air, "That is how they will find her." He nodded at his handy work and set off down the street. The sun started to peek through the grey clouds, shinning on the moist ground. Spike let out a shriek and sprinted toward the nearest building, pushing and shoving people this way and that, running as he smoldered. He reached the building, the smell of leather reached his nostrils. 'A leather shop.' he thought as he burst through the door. He dusted himself off and straightened his coat. He looked down at his right pocket, no one would suspect that he had a metal spike under there.

His blue eyes pierced every corner of the little shop, looking at every person in the room, taking in the wares and studying the exits. He walked up to the man behind the counter, his back to the rest of the shop, taking his spike out with each step, an evil glint in his eyes. If you had been standing on the street and looking in, nothing would have seen amiss, nothing at all. Spike walked out of the back door, covered in blood, licking his lips as he went. The shop had been simple and easy, no one screamed, it was quick, but no fun. Its more fun when they scream. He walked back to the street and walked up behind a lean man, impaling him with the spike. The man screamed, his voice rising above the rabble of the crowded street. Many turned to look as the man's knees buckled and he fell to the floor as a slightly ginger man pulled a railway spike out of the man's back. People screamed, backing away, creating a circle around the two men.

Spike's body count had risen steadily in the past few minutes, the streets were deserted except for a bloody pile in the middle of the street. In a few more hours the whole city would be exterminated, all the population dead, all killed with a railway spike, and a vampire would rise out of the ashes of a dead city, calling himself Spike, for good reason. It was a massacre, and Spike loved it.

He loved the rush of the kill, the feeling he got when his victims realized that he had power over them. He drank the fear in like a drug. When he was finished, he left town, in a blood soaked coat and shirt. His hunger was satisfied, his drive to kill had vanished after the last woman and child was dead in his arms. One thought was on his mind. Well actually two. Drusilla, and Angelus. He lifted his nose to the wind, sniffing the air. He caught whiff of them, and started his long journey back.


End file.
